


Something About Medical Wonders

by lowi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, this pairing i want to write them an entire book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:44:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowi/pseuds/lowi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Albus claims to have the same diabolic system as a house-elf. </p>
<p>(Seriously, he's not writing love-poems!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something About Medical Wonders

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [mew-tsubaki](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/924518/mew-tsubaki) for betareading. This can also be found at my [FFN-account](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9180760/1/).

Scorpius had  _nothing_  to do. And it was Albus’ fault, since the bloke was at Quidditch practice.

And all right, there was homework lying on his nightstand, screaming, “Do me, do me, or do you want to be an uneducated bastard—unemployed and useless?” But  _really_?

So, he had nothing to do.

If it only had stopped pouring outside, he could have gone to watch Albus’ training—but he’d prefer it if he was dry. Also, it would be much funnier this way, in the long end, because if Scorpius wasn’t soaked he could laugh at Albus’ drowned-cat look when the black-haired lad returned.

He rose from the bed, out of which he hadn’t even poked a toe until now this morning. Albus had woken him by grumbling and throwing a pillow at his face—blaming Scorpius for the weather before heading out of the dorm. Scorpius hadn’t quite understood how he could be the scapegoat, mostly since he still had been trying to linger on a dream where he was the host of a burlesque. Huh.

He had managed to fall asleep again, anyway (though the dream was gone without a trace and had been replaced by one about porcupines), and now, two hours later, the dorm was completely empty. Apparently Scorpius was the only sixth-year Gryffindor boy that used his mornings in a proper way. (That is, to sleep in.)

But now he was awake. And bored. He couldn’t be bothered to go down to the common room, because, quite frankly, he couldn’t be bothered to get dressed. Weekends were supposed to consist of lazing around in boxers and eating cereal at noon—not that that happened too often with a best friend who was a training addict and woke Scorpius up by doing push-ups next to his bed so that the entire room soon reeked of sweat. Now, though, Scorpius would take his opportunity.

At least until said Too-Fit person returned, Scorpius thought, and he let himself fall down on Albus’ familiar bed, bouncing slightly. However, there was something that disturbed the normal softness of Albus’ sheets and comforter. Something pointy.

Scorpius slipped a hand beneath the mattress and met something that felt like the hard corner of a book. His brow furrowed as he tried to pull it out, his tongue in the corner of his mouth in concentration.

Finally he succeeded and fell back onto Albus’ pillows, grinning. He quickly flipped the book open, but, after a few seconds of careless flicking through its pages, he put it down next to him with a pout. It was empty.

He crossed his arms and let his head fall back on Albus’ pillow, but then, suddenly, the tiny notebook flipped  _itself_  open, revealing a page with some scribbles on it. Oh. What could be so much of a secret that there was some kind of spell on it?

The page it was opened to was filled with doodles of absolutely nothing—Scorpius had  _no_ idea Albus was this bad at drawing, honestly—but then, on the next page, there was a short text:

_Oh, when I’m with you_

_My insides turn to goo_

_For you I’d go through_

_A month of flu_

Scorpius raised his eyebrows. Was Albus serious? He felt his lips curl up in a grin, and forced himself not to laugh out loud. Priceless, really.

Suddenly the door creaked open, and a soaked Albus stepped inside, just nodding at Scorpius before heading in to the bathroom.

Scorpius quickly slid out of the bed and hurried after Albus into the tiled room. “Hey, what’s up?” he asked, watching Albus wriggle free from his unusually muddy cloaks.

“Training sucked. Tried to stop Finnigan from giving Tim a black eye, and instead got shoved down off my broom by Miles. Worst team we’ve ever had. There’s seriously not a single ounce of team spirit, you know?”

“Oh, sorry to hear that.” Scorpius swallowed as he tried to keep his facial expressions blank. “Have you written this?” he asked, pushing the book under Albus’ nose.

Albus’ eyes widened. “No.”

“Of course you have! It was under  _your_  bed and it’s in  _your_  handwriting.”

“Well,” Albus said, fiddling with the buttons on his trousers, “I was drunk.”

“But you don’t drink.”

“Butterbeer. Loads and loads of them.”

“You can’t get drunk from butterbeer, though. It’s, like, a privilege only granted to house-elves.”

Albus didn’t seem to be able to get off his trousers, or maybe that’s exactly what happened, as he turned away from Scorpius. “Oh, but I have the same diabolic system as a house-elf.”

“What? That’s not even possible.”

“It is—it’s in my genes. It…I don’t know, skips a lot of generations. I’m a medical wonder, they say.”

“Wait, does that mean one of your ancestors screwed a house-elf? That’s sick, mate!”

“No!” Albus quickly swung around, now his trousers halfway down his legs. “It’s odd, because they don’t know why I’ve got those genes, but it’s not from my family.”

“Isn’t that exactly how genes work, though? Not that I know much about that.” Scorpius’ eyes dipped, unconsciously, and then, as Albus cleared his throat, they jumped straight up again to Albus’ flushed cheeks.

“Not mine,” he said quietly.

“You’re talking so much crap, Al. Who did you write this to? 

“No one!” Albus protested. “Now, get out of here!” He walked over to Scorpius and grabbed his shoulders, pushing him out of the bathroom. Really, it wasn’t fair that the guy had so many muscles. Scorpius flailed his arms a great deal to make Albus let go of him, but in the end he just got the door closed in his face, accompanied by a final, “I’m gonna shower—shoo, shoo!”

“You  _have_  to tell me, though!” Scorpius said through the door. Then he took a step back and watched the closed door with his eyebrows knitted tightly. “C’mon, mate, just say it.”

No one answered, and Scorpius’ shoulders slumped. Well, he hadn’t lost yet.

And Scorpius knew how to be stubborn.

\--

“Would you  _stop_  nagging?” Albus whispered—though it wasn’t that much of a whisper anymore, and Scorpius watched contently how those in the row ahead of them turned to see. Soon Albus would be  _destroyed_. Ha.

“Just tell me, Al, and I’ll stop,” Scorpius breathed lightly, scratching his chin with his quill absently. He was such a professional at this; he could see Albus break more and more with every second that passed. Awesome.

“There’s nothing to tell you!” Albus grabbed his parchment roll and glared at their teacher, while shaking his head. The elderly woman cleared her throat.

“Potter, is something wrong?” she asked.

“No, no, sorry!”

When she returned to her lecturing, Scorpius poked Albus in his side. “Something’s wrong, though, when you don’t want to tell me.”

“Nothing’s wrong with me, Scor! It rather seems that there’s something wrong with  _you_ , honestly.”

“I’d prefer it if you’d keep your tone down, Mr. Potter,” their teacher remarked.

“But you’re acting all strangely, mate,” Scorpius hounded him.

“Sorry,” Albus said to the professor. He turned back to Scorpius. “And I’m not acting strangely—it’s  _you_  who won’t lay off—”

“Potter! Stop interrupting class or leave!” the professor shouted, reddening in anger.

“You are acting strangely, though. Look at yourself.” Scorpius eyed him up and down.

“I’m not!” Albus protested.

“Potter.” Their professor had a venomous look in her eyes. “ _Out_  of here. Now.”

\--

Scorpius didn’t understand why Albus was mad at him. Like, when he’d returned from detention he had walked into the common room and Scorpius had said, “Yooo, bad boy, what’d they make you do?” but Albus hadn’t even nodded at him, just stormed up the stairs and into their dorm.

So now Scorpius stood in front of Albus’ bed, pondering if he should just burst through the drawn drapes around the four-poster. What made it sound like a good idea was that it was what they usually did—because  _moping_? What the heck? Better just joke it away. But what made it sound like a bad idea was the fact that Albus obviously was crushing on someone and, well, perhaps he’d be in there wanking or something, right?

Eh, whatever. Scorpius pulled the drapes away and found what mostly resembled a lifeless pile of comforters and pillows. But Albus was bound to be in it somewhere, so before Albus could have the time to disentangle himself from the sheets to glare at Scorpius and the light he had brought with him, Scorpius pounced on the pile.

“Whaa—Scorpius?”

“Do you know any other blond hunks that attack you in bed?” Scorpius asked, putting on an indignant face.

Albus shrugged a little and pulled Scorpius off him. Again, it was  _horrible_  that Albus was that fit and could practically throw Scorpius anywhere. Like, when had it happened? When they were first years, Scorpius won their wrestling games. At least, most of the time. Like, more than half of the time. Not counting those times there had been uneven circumstances. But  _mostly_.

“Really, though. What’s up with you?” Scorpius poked a finger into Albus’ cheek.

“Nothing. Just, er, tired. Had to dust on top of all the bookshelves in the library.”

“Oh.” Scorpius crawled around a little in the bed so he wouldn’t crush Albus’ left leg. “Er… I’m sorry?”

“You? Sorry?” Albus gave him a bewildered look—on the other hand, that wasn’t unusual, so Scorpius couldn’t help but chortle.

“Yeah. I guess it was my fault, right?” he asked, watching Albus’ face closely.

“No. Whatever. Really.”

“Yeah, but you seem a bit pissed at me.”

“No, I’m not. Honestly.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay.” Then for a while neither of them said anything. “Mind if I sleep in your bed tonight?”

“What’s with you and sleeping in my bed?” Albus muttered, but he shuffled around a bit so that they’d fit better.

“Warmer. You’re warmer.”

“You could use a quilt, though,” Albus said, but then he closed his eyes with a smile grazing his lips. Scorpius contemplated waiting until Albus fell asleep, to see the exact moment the smile would falter into a more relaxed version of his face. But seriously, that’d be creepy and weird—and he was tired.

\--

Scorpius had no idea why he was sitting on a cold bench with his clothes plastered to his skin and his hair completely ruined. Okay, he had some idea. He had gone out to watch Albus’ training, and it had rained. But why he had done it, he didn’t know.

It was just… Albus had, after yesterday’s training, been completely miserable because apparently Shawns had punched McSimmons in the throat, and then Finnigan had said Albus was the worst captain the team ever had seen, so when Albus had been on his way to training today, he had told Scorpius that he didn’t need to come today either as the weather was absolutely terrible, but something in Albus’ eyes had looked as though he meant the exact opposite, so Scorpius had gone out, too, either way.

And now…well. He waved down at Albus as the guy just looked at him from the goal hoops, where he just had scored a goal. Albus didn’t return the wave, though, but began a very loud shouting match with Miles.

Scorpius leaned backwards and let the raindrops hit his face. It would be a long training session; he could sense it.

And it was.

An hour later, he finally made his way down the bleachers and joined Albus on the wet grass on the empty field. Albus had sat down there, just collapsed, after he had dismissed the team and practically begged Shawns not to break Jones’ “ugly-ass nose,” to borrow Shawns’ words.

“Shouldn’t you be preventing a massacre in the showers right now?”

Albus gave him a long look in response. “Maybe that’s the solution. If they all kill each other, I can get a new team that actually  _is_  a team and not a collection of individualistic jerks.”

“Why don’t you get a new team then?”

“Because they  _are_  the best. They…er…they just have a lot of aggression.”

Scorpius thought it was a little bit adorable how Albus one second complained about the players, and the next defended them. As though no one else had the right to talk crap about them except for him.

“Thanks for coming out here. I mean, you’re drenched, mate.”

“No worries. Next time I’m…er, next time I’m, I don’t know, tied to a pole in the pouring rain, I hope you’ll come out and be drenched to, yeah?”

“Why would you be tied to a pole?”

“Only reason I’d be out in shitty weather, right?” Scorpius nudged his knee against Albus’ side, noting how the thin fabric of the t-shirt Albus wore under his cloaks clung to his frame.

“Fair enough. I promise I’ll be there when you’re tied to a pole, then. But only if it’s shitty weather. If the sun’s shining, I won’t come.”

“Not okay! I watch you play when it’s nice weather, too!”

“You do,” Albus said. His eyes suddenly dipped, losing the glimmer in them that had been there ever since he had spotted Scorpius stumbling down to the grass.

“Al?” Scorpius asked quietly.

Albus made a slight movement with his left hand, and then—then he bent forward quickly and let his lips crash down on Scorpius’.

His lips tasted like rain and sweat and very much Albus. Though Scorpius didn’t know what Albus tasted like—but he tasted like something that felt very unsurprising, at least. Like, he tasted _right_. Huh.

“Al?” Scorpius put a hand on Albus’ chest and pushed himself away from Albus.

“Oh, Merlin. I’m so sorry, Scor.” Albus’ eyes were large and flicked around. “Really, really sorry.”

“Why did you do that?” Scorpius let the hand drop from Albus’ chest so that it landed in the grass instead.

“I—no. Well, sorry, okay? Please, can we just forget it?” Albus leant backwards so that he lied flat on his back, raindrops hitting his unsheltered face heavily. He closed his eyes and pulled his hands through his hair.

Scorpius didn’t move for a short while. Then he spun around where he sat and threw himself on top of Albus, who groaned.

“Hey, you’re all guns and abs, so stop groaning! I’m not heavy,” he protested, leaning closely to Albus’ face.

“Wasn’t prepared,” Albus mumbled, opening his eyes slowly and jolting almost unnoticeably—probably when he realised how closely Scorpius hovered above him. “Um…”

“Hi,” Scorpius breathed.

“What are you doing?” Albus asked, though his eyes were caught on Scorpius’ lips.

The aforementioned lips curled up into a grin. “Continuing.”

“Oh.  _Oh_ ,” Albus said, and then he said it once more as Scorpius closed the distance between them.


End file.
